


Catch and Release

by Arnica



Series: Blocking your own shot [5]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-27
Updated: 2012-08-31
Packaged: 2017-11-13 01:13:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/497753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arnica/pseuds/Arnica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things are going well at Torchwood three, until a tipped semi drags the team into a case that hits too close to home. A Blocking take on "Meat"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Shake it like a salt shaker! Shake it like a salt shaker!”

Ianto doesn't even bother opening his eyes, groping blindly towards the middle of the bed and yanking the first pillow he touches towards him, dropping it over his head to try and muffle the bass thumping out of the bathroom over the pouring sound of the shower and Cheyenne singing along. The cotton case is still warm and smells like Jack which is always a pleasant surprise to find that the older man hasn't let himself out while they were sleeping on the frequently increasing nights they both stay out in Radyr. It also explains why he's woken up to a sing along in the shower and not to Indiana's substantial wiggling bulk being deposited in the middle of his stomach.

“Cheyenne! Seven am is a sick and unholy time to be rapping!” The water shuts off from the en suite, making the music sound even louder before the volume is dropped suddenly and considerably.

“Seven am is the _only_ time to rap. Obviously.” Ianto reluctantly lifts a corner of the pillow off his face, peeking out from under it into the bright sunny room. Steam billows out curling in the cool air as she cracks the door, water streaming off her shoulders and disgustingly cheerful for someone who was wide awake and riding him cowgirl style five hours ago. “Come on, it's actually seven- _thirty_ so you got to sleep in, but you need to get moving if you're going to make it home in time to change. Unless you have spare clothes at work.” He did have spare clothes at work, but they're what he came over in since the outfit he started the day in is at the dry cleaners getting blood out of it.

“Nope.” Ianto lets the pillow drop from his fingers back onto his face. “I'm not moving. I quit. Jack! I quit today!”

“You can't quit today.” Jack's voice startles him into sitting up, pillow sliding off his face as he looks away from Cheyenne disappearing out of the bathroom door to Jack in the bedroom, Indiana squealing where's he's tucked under Jack's arm like a football, little legs pinwheeling like he's trying to run on air. “Everyone needs coffee.”

“Well, Starbucks hasn't closed down yet. Let me kiss my son goodbye and give me my retcon now so I can go back to bed.” The bed bounces as Jack crosses the room, dropping down on it and plopping Indy on the mattress between them. “Come on, come to daddy.” Indy isn't crawling yet, but he pushes up on wobbly arms and looks intently up at Ianto, wiggling madly in place as his legs kick out in an uncoordinated failure in locomotion. “Oh, not quite! Can you work for it? Show daddy.” Indy goes nowhere, but he does it fast, tiny socked feet digging wrinkles in the blankets as he tries to scoot his bulk forward, making the funniest little grunts until his father takes pity on him,  
reaching out and scooping him up. “Oh, fail! Maybe next time.”

“Enjoy his stationary period while it lasts, because when he starts moving, he won't ever stop again.” Jack's already dressed as he flops back down onto the bed next to them, watching Indiana shriek and drool as his dad rucks up the shirt with the grinning bear on it to blow raspberries on the round little tummy underneath.

“Are you _still_ in bed?” Cheyenne lets herself out of the bath, still damp hair twisted up in braid and pinned up off her back. “Daddy is going to be mad the entire drive into town because he's going to have to rush all morning and still be late.”

“Daddy is never mad; he is also never late. Daddy is the epitome of grace, punctuality, and placidity. Can you can say placidity?” Indy burbles and drops another long trail of drool onto his already wet shoulder. “Fine. I'm up, I'm awake and covered in slobber. Let me up.” Jack takes the baby as Ianto slides out of the bed, pinching Cheyenne's bottom on his way into the bathroom.

***

Ianto's late. Jack dropped him almost an hour ago at his flat where Ianto realized his half and half has gone bad in the fridge, his ferns were creeping out of their pots trying to take over everything nearby, and he had two days worth of mail he hasn't had a chance to pick up that tripped him as he came in the door, and it all had to be taken care of. Now he's driving through traffic like a dick, drinking black coffee because the sugar was all clumped together and seriously, when was the last time he spent any time at his own bloody home for longer than it took to sleep and get dressed? The garage is going to be too crowded now to get through the wall and park in the loading bay, so Ianto parks on the second level with a scowl and has to hit the scrambler for the CCTV under the visor on the passenger side to block the sight of him getting into his trunk to load his clutch piece and the files he brought to Chy's last night to finish into his briefcase.

It's two and a half blocks from the garage, in the snow, to the tourist office, and of course by the time he gets there, there's a small queue of five old women in thick sweaters and matching warm red hats huddled around the door glaring.

“Young man, the sign on the office door says you open at eight thirty. It's twenty minutes past nine...”

“I beg your pardon ladies.” He gives them his biggest smile and the one that looks like his nana melts a bit. “No excuse for it, but I've a new little one and he's not the best sleeper.” And now he's won the rest of them. They follow him in as he twists his keys to the far right to set off the 'office in use' alert and then back left to unlock the building. “So sorry, let me get you all a hot cup of coffee while I turn everything on, and I'll be glad to help you with anything you might have questions about while you warm up.”

“No hurry dear. How old's your little one?”

Ten minutes later his personal phone is being clucked and cooed over between sips of coffee out of the actual china he keeps in the back office instead of the paper cups by the door.

“Well, you said he's about five and a half months?” The youngest of the women, 'Just call me Bitsy, everyone does', is perched on the edge of the window sill. “A bit old for colic. He's just settling into his big baby sleep patterns. He'll do this four or five more times before he's ready for school. A little cereal in his bottle, and then turn him at midnight. Don't flip him for heaven's sake, no matter what anyone says there's no good reason to have his sweet little head upside down, just make sure his crib is going north to south and swap his head southwards.”

“Don't be a ninny Bitsy, the dear thing just said his wife was halfway around the world not two months ago. Your little boy's just gotten confused. It takes a very long time for babies to settle if the mother was pregnant somewhere else. My granddaughter was pregnant in Australia two years ago and it took almost a year before her little one slept through the night. A great-grandmother, me. I don't look it, do I?”

“Never would have guessed.” She does, in fact look not _just_ like a great grandmother, but like every stereotype of grandmothers rolled into one. Ianto's been slowly succumbing to the instinctual comfort of rose water and lily of the valley scents, allowing them to pat his hands and coo over him as much as Indiana's photos, but he's really got to get down to the Hub before the inmates begin rioting over a lack of caffeine. “Now, what were you ladies looking to do while you're in Cardiff?”

It takes another ten minutes to get the women bundled down with the proper brochures for the Castle, National museum, and the opera, along with a couple of the coupon booklets that he has lying around and never bothers giving out; shooing them back out into the clear cold day with written directions to Sands bakery for breakfast before digging his headset out of his pocket.

“Sorry about the delay in coffee everyone, apparently the tourist office is open for business this morning. Anyone needing coffee in the next twenty minutes or so is welcome to come up and help themselves.”

The only surprise when the false wall slides back less then three minutes later is that it's only Gwen and not the entire team.

“I'm getting for everyone while I'm here. Is Cheyenne due in today?”

“Don't think so. Her schedule is a mystery to everyone but her and Jack. Actually, she's got a thing today...” Ianto reaches into his pocket, digging out his phone because he can't remember off the top of his head what she's doing and it's going to bug him all day if he doesn't look it up now. “Ah, nope. She's meeting with a realtor today to look at three houses with price tags that made me more than faintly nauseous when I saw her checking them out online. _Why_ Gwen? Why does she need six bedrooms and ten manicured acres with a _pond_ and outbuildings?” The woman grins at him, toying with a loose thread on her red sweater as she rolls her eyes.

“Because reality telly has taught me one solid dependable fact. The wealthy are a strange and unfathomable breed. Can I have hot chocolate mix in mine this morning?”

“You are disgusting Gwen Cooper.” He rolls his eyes, but reaches over and snags one of the little packets of instant cocoa mix and tips it into one of the paper cups. “A disgusting girl who likes her coffee candy flavored.”

“I had to sit down there listening to Owen bitch and moan about you having tea parties with sweet little old ladies while he 'died of withdrawal', the big baby, plus Rhys slept really well last night, so he snored like a chainsaw. I have earned cocoa in my coffee.”

“I'll see your snoring Rhys and raise you _four_ new teeth coming in at the same time. He'll have all his canines by weeks end at this point.” He hands her the tall paper cup with it's decorative sleeve and watches her sigh in pleasure as she sips slowly. “I don't know how other people do this and function Gwen.”

“By not hunting aliens all day and night.” She's entirely too cheerful and he lets one eyebrow creep slowly up his face until Gwen begins snickering into her cup.

“I'm serious. The only reason anyone got any sleep, Indy included, is I'm pretty sure Jack took his work into the nursery around three and sat there with his finger in that razor sharp mouth of doom the rest of the night.”

“Yes. Yes I did.” The sliding wall is silent and Jack's voice startles them as he comes through the beaded curtain and into the back. “I also got tired of waiting for Gwen to bring me my coffee.”

“I make a shite secretary and I'm pretty sure I told you that when I was hired. If not, I make a shite secretary.” Gwen takes her cup and tips it up at Jack in a salute as Ianto hands her the other two arranged in a carrying tray. “So, what's on the schedule today?”

“Noth...” Jack rolls his eyes as the light on the end on his ear piece flashes twice, reaching around Gwen to get his paper cup as he opens the line and wanders back through the false wall, voice echoing back to them. “Harkness.”

“So much for nothing. Let me go drop off this coffee before we all end up piling out for an invasion uncaffeinated.”

***

'Nothing' turns out to be a traffic accident across town that's most likely just going to be a waste of time and Ianto loses the game of rock paper scissors between himself and Tosh, so he has to pile into the SUV and head across town in the miserable sleet that's beginning to pelt down and replace the snow fall.

“Why are they dragging me out in this shit?” Owen's sunk down in his seat, grumbling as he tries to wrestle his scarf up around his ears without covering his mouth. “It's sleeting for the first time this year and as happens _every_ year, some dumb fuck forgot how to drive with a little slick on the roads. But _this_ dumb fuck was behind the wheel of a lorry. It's a job for the cops and rescue unless there was a fucking alien driving the other car.”

“Look, we've got a riftugee on Dragon Rescue, a low grade psychic, and she says something's got all seven of her senses screaming so we're going to check it out. She's probably just picking up the death echoes of seventy cows, but we got called, so we do our job.” Jack glances over and rolls his eyes at Owens' fidgeting. “Do you want me to turn the heat up Owen?”

“Don't bother. You'll turn the heat up and the teaboy will just crack his window.”

“That's because those of us who aren't scrawny, cold blooded, and possibly anemic don't like being piled in an SUV full of equipment dumping heat out into the cab with three other adults and the thermostat cranked to sixty.” The doctor shifts round in his seat, smirking around the deep green wool.

“You just like to keep it cold in here because warm cars put you down for a nap.”

“That almost never happens Owen.” One day he's really going to have to master his autonomic response system, because he feels his ears going bright red.

“It happens _all the time_ on the way back from calls. You just think no one notices because you wake up without drooling when the car stops.” Ianto's opening his mouth to let Owen have it, and he's got a great insult about hibernating frogs that he's been saving for just such a snowy occasion, when Jack takes the exit and they come even with the up turned semi. “Oh, that's...”

“A fucking mess. Yes it is. Jesus, how fast was this twat going? Idiot.” The medic yanks his scarf down off his face and wrenches the door open before Jack has the key pulled out of the ignition. “Come on, let's go check out some fucking 'death echoes' from my burgers so I can get back to doing something productive.”

They separate as soon as their feet hit the ground, Gwen wandering away towards the officers closest to the cab, Jack and Owen making a direct line to the van, and Ianto grabs his recorder and thermos and heads for Jallie, loitering near one of the rescue vehicles. The Etherian girl is very pale, the bluish-white color of skim milk as opposed to her normal peaches and cream complexion, making the dark purple glyphs and scrolls up and down her arms marking her as mated and widowed look black.

“Jallie, you look awful. Come sit with me and have some tea. Sweet, strong, and milky, just the way you like it.” She gives him a small wan smile and crosses the shattered glass sparkling in the snow near a blood stain to follow him to the nearest section of untwisted guard rail and perch lightly on it. Her hands are still shaking as she takes the paper cup and lifts it to her lips.

“I am not being sure who else to call Ianto Jones.” Ianto has the recorder running, but already he knows that whatever Jack and Owen find is going to be more than the death echoes of a couple future burgers, because Jallie was his first riftugee just a week after he started at Three and within three months of arrival, her English was as perfect as if she'd been born in the UK. For her to be fumbling her grammar, like it's her first weeks speaking it all over again, means something has her desperately unsettled. “I am being used to your people eating other living not-peoples. I am not knowing it always anymore, but what is in that lorry is being _not_ standard. Is being not Earth, and frightened, and _still alive_ when is being cut!” Etheria is, according to Jallie and Jack, one of those rare planets in the Universe that never evolved a single form of land carnivore and the casual consumption of meat still faintly terrifies and thoroughly disgusts the woman. She catches her full lips between her wide flat teeth in distress and shudders. “I was not knowing what else was to be doing, Ianto Jones. I am very much needing help.”

“All right Jallie, we believe you. We're taking over, and if someone's been slaughtering aliens, we'll stop them. I promise.” He reaches over and pats her hand absently and the misery that's been just pouring off her since the moment her eyes met his is gone like a light switch has been flipped, her eyes bright green as she lifts his hand in her smaller one, fitting her fingertips to his and cocking her head curiously to the side.

“You are having made a baby! Is on your...aura?” Her English is normally impeccable, but there are still words that are used sparingly between herself and humans. Words that don't quite mean what either party think they do, but are the closest approximation and aura is one of them when it comes to her instinctive psychic scan of the energies around her. Her shoulders loosen as she quirks a small smile at him. “Baby is pretty?”

“Yes. He's perfect. Have someone take you home and rest Jallie. We'll clear it from the top down, but take a couple days off and recover okay? We've got it.” She takes the rest of her cup and wanders off without another word and Ianto knows she's going to find someone to drive her home to her flat full of quiet, calming plants on the end of a dead end road where they've had tea together during every one of her biannual check-ins. Faintly he can hear Jack and Owen's voices drifting out of the back of the trailer as he heads towards it, and he pockets the mini recorder, pulling out his PDA and running the license and VIN numbers on the way. Inside, Jack's voice is echoing around as he talks about a lack of giant cows and Gwen is trying to raise her voice over it as she tells the uniforms outside that they're confiscating the shipment, as if anyone other than themselves will hear 'giant cows' and believe it.

“Did you find out where it came from?” Jack doesn't turn around when he hears Ianto's shoes on the side of the refrigerated truck.

“No,” He looks down at the PDA again. “But it's a Harwood's lorry...”

“That's Rhys' firm.” Owen drops a slab of meat into the evidence box with a thick wet sound that Ianto ignores, looking over at Gwen as she worries at her bottom lip. Owen's making noises about being done, and they step out into the crisp cold air and out of the slaughterhouse funk gratefully.

“I've forwarded the tonnage information to Tosh. She has a crane on the way to get it back upright and a wrecker to haul it, but she wants to know where you want it dropped?” Gwen is distracted on the way back to the SUV, so Ianto has to double back and set the lock on the trailer doors before running back across the blood splashed snow.

“Warehouse seventeen, dock five should be open for commandeering, but have her double check and send me the new coordinates if I'm wrong. Have her hire me out a new truck too. I'm going to need to get all that meat out of the city to the UNIT base to use their big incinerator and the axles are probably trashed on that trailer.”

“I'll clear your schedule after the truck arrives.”

“Good. And while you're at it, find out what you'd need to get your CDL. I've been forging mine for seventy years now and I'm tired of being the only one driving the damn lorries.”

**

Jack wasn't kidding about having Ianto look up the requirements for getting his CDL. As soon as the first round of coffees are delivered, he snags Ianto by the back of his jacket and thumps him down at his backup station, hidden under the snacks and stairs where Myfanwy can't drop anything on it.

“Find out what qualifications you need, how much time you need to log behind the wheel, and download the testing manual. We need another driver.”

“I'm starting to see Cheyenne's side of the bonded contractor argument.” She's still aghast that when they all told her Torchwood did everything in house that they all actually meant _everything_. She hasn't said anything to Jack about it recently, but the business information of bonded crime scene cleaners, mechanics, and construction crews keeps appearing everywhere, cards paper clipped to crime scene photos in files on Jack's desk and showing up in his pockets at the damnedest times. Sometimes Ianto is blazingly jealous that he didn't come up with the idea first, because every time Jack pulls the number to a crime scene crew out of his greatcoat pocket when they're ankle deep in shit and blood he stares at it a little longer. Eventually he's going to give in.

“Just find out for me while I go supervise the truck drop.”

It only takes ten minutes to get all the information Jack wants, so Ianto wanders around the Hub, binning rubbish scattered around the common areas, gathering the alarmingly large collection of mugs strewn about, and swapping his jacket for a long black apron to start scrubbing down the galley because with Owen busy playing mad scientist in the autopsy bay and Jack making sure the meat is being safely transported and prepped for destruction the rest of them are stuck in yet another hurry up and wait moment.

“Give me that bloody scrub brush, I'm going insane.” Gwen slings herself around the corner, hand out imperiously and his spare apron tied around her tightly enough that she's wrapped the strings twice.

“You look like a five year old in that thing Gwen. It comes down to your ankles. That said,” he shoves the scrub brush into her hands enthusiastically. “Have at.” She doesn't say anything as she begins attacking the coffee stains Owen's mugs always accumulate but Ianto knows how your guts turn to stone and water simultaneously when Torchwood and your personal life come too close to brushing, so he squeezes her shoulder on the way out and reassures himself that she'll call him on the coms if she needs him.

Myfanwy needs feeding and Ianto toys briefly with the idea of requisitioning some of the dodgy meat to mix in with her normal feed before discarding it in disgust. The last thing anyone needs is a dinosaur with an upset stomach from eating possible alien. Instead Ianto swaps his kitchen apron for a butchers black rubber and begins breaking down two dozen eels and a roast that Cheyenne took out of the fridge and left on the counter for a day and a half while everyone was on a case, mixing the raw chunks in with the high grade puppy food that makes up the bulk of their alien feed. Sometimes Ianto feels awful about feeding dog food to aliens, and then Janet will stick her entire face in the bowl and come up with kibble stuck in her wrinkles and he'll feel a lot better really quickly. There's grapes in the 'creatures only' fridge and Ianto tosses some of those in because why not? It's hardly like Janet will know she had more than whatever he puts on her plate today. The bucket stinks as he lugs it carefully to the service lift that runs along all the catwalk levels, shutting the gate behind himself and taking it all the way up to the aerie.

Myfanwy is hanging upside down from her sleeping perch, a salvaged set of monkey bars sprayed over with truck bed liner and welded to the top of the cavernous cage, but she cracks one eye open, fastening it on Ianto as the electric charge to her aerie is turned off.

“Come on girl. Lunch time.” She drops, talons screeching against the rough coating on the bars, and flips in one quick neat movement before throwing her wings open wide and breaking her fall so that she touches down gently across the trough from him. “There's my girl. There's daddy's pretty girl.” She ignores the slop being poured out into the claw foot tub rescued from the depths of the storage rooms to serve as a feeding trough, stretching her neck over it and clacking that deadly beak centimeters from his face as she starts grooming his hair up into spikes. “Stop it. No.”

If she could roll her eyes, Ianto's sure she would. Instead she ignores his pushing hands until his hair is standing completely on end in a half curled fauxhawk before chirping in delight and smacking the bony ridge of her head into his sternum until he starts scratching at the spot on the base of her head ridge where she can't reach no matter how she twists her head against the monkey bars. She shifts left, shuffling around to rub her head deeper into his digging fingers and Ianto groans low in his throat as the Hub lights hit something yellow.

“Myfanwy, bad girl!” Her head drops and she watches him from the corner of her eye as he shoves that massive bony skull out of the way and stomps over to her pile of stolen goodies. Traditionally they hide a collection of cheap shiny cat toys and soft plushie things around the Hub to appease her, hopefully, instinctive need to steal and hoard. It was a great idea when Torchwood was, quite reasonably, an adults only zone. Now that there's an emergency stash of stuff for Indiana scattered in several places around the Hub, it's getting to be a pain keeping the dinosaur out of the baby things. She's got her head under her wing, making her guilty face as Ianto digs an empty thirty-two ounce can of formula concentrate, two stuffed animals that are definitely Indiana's, and the tiny soft black sneakers Cheyenne has been having fits about losing for a week now. “Don't take Indy's things! Mean girl, stealing the baby's things.” She's scolding and chortling, arguing back from under her wing as Ianto tosses his son's things over his shoulder and onto the catwalk, but when he reaches down to pick up the yellow baby blanket that drew his attention in the first place, the playful grumbling dissolves into a low growling hiss until he yanks his hand back and spins to face her with a frown. “You're growling at the right one, because if you think I won't knock you off your feet again with the stun bat, you've got a short memory.” She ignores the words, even though Ianto knows she understands the word 'stun' and shuffles, head low and wings spread wide between him and the yellow blanket, stomping her wide feet right over it and shrieking as he tries to shoo her away. “Whatever. I'm smarter than you Myfanwy and I'll get it while you're sleeping. Eat your dinner, you bad girl.”

The feeling of possibly being outsmarted by a dinosaur leaves a sour taste in his mouth as Ianto steps back onto the lift and presses his finger to the call button on his earpiece.

“Call Cheyenne, personal.” The ring back tone for her personal line changes weekly. Last week it was Lynyrd Skynyrd, and today it's Coheed and Cambria. He makes it almost to the first chorus before she picks up.

“Sorry, I'm here, don't hang up, hi. Sup?”

“I found all of Indiana's missing things in Myfanwy's cage just now. I was able to rescue the stuffed pig from David, his sneakers you couldn't find, the little black dog, and the remains of one of those big cans of formula, but she settled down on the yellow blanket your mum made and wasn't giving it up. She hissed and everything.”

“Fuck it. She can have it if she wants it that bad. I don't want you getting pecked to death over a blankie. So, anything interesting happening at work today, or do you want to hear all about how I hate the first house I looked at today?”

“House.”

Gwen has wandered off out of the galley and left the sink full of water, but she scrubbed all the mugs and counters first, so Ianto yanks the plugs and starts getting coffee ready while he texts the lunch order in to the pizza place and listens to Cheyenne's surprisingly long list of complaints.

“Seriously Ianto, the shower was in the _tub_. That's fine in an apartment, or in the kids bath, lots of places, but I'm not spending one and a quarter on a place where the tub and the shower are the same unit _in the master bath_.”

“I don't know which I love more, the way you say one and a quarter like the _million_ after it should just be assumed, or your previously hidden disdain for shower/tub combos. You don't hate it at my flat.”

“I _do_ hate it at your place, just on principal, but it doesn't matter because I only take showers there and not baths. Besides, your apartment has a lot of fantastic qualities to make up for the fact. Your bedroom is huge, your bathroom has fantastic natural light, your skylight is in the right place to really brighten up the living room and you have an excellent eye for color and shape in your living space. This place was _hideous_. The wall paper was ugly beyond acceptability, the carpeting hasn't been updated in at least ten years, the grounds need some serious manicuring...it's a beautiful layout on six acres, the out buildings have been modernized more recently than the main house, and there's a nice size stream running through the back fields, but it's not the one. There's too much remodeling to get it to my standards, and I abhor remodeling. Feel free to laugh at me anytime, I know how I sound.”

“Good, because you sound crazy, Chy. Good God woman,” He taps on the glass to the autopsy bay to get Owen's attention and lifts the mug to let him know he has fresh coffee waiting and begins weaving his way through the rest of the main floor to deliver drinks. “How much space do you really need? Honestly?”

“I need all of it. Every single square foot. You'll see. So, I'm pulling into the second place now and I'll tell you all about it later.” She makes kissey noises in the phone, and hangs up laughing about the time Jack stomps into the Hub scowling with what looks like axle grease on his trousers and in a streak up his face.

“Tell me that's from wiping your face and that the trailer didn't fall on your head Jack.” The scowl breaks into one of Jack's barking laughs and he pauses his stomping through the Hub to steal a swallow of Owen's coffee off his desk while he's distracted.

“I did not drop a lorry axle on my face in the two hours I've been gone. I did have to help them cut the damn thing loose though. The cause of our wreck was the driver speeding on icy roads.”

“Got it!” Owen sticks his head up through the door way and the thick black grease on Jack's face is infinitely preferable to the smear of blood on Owen's ear. “Everyone who gives a shit needs to get downstairs where my notes are. Except Jones; he has to go make me a new bloody coffee because I saw Jack drink out of mine and I occasionally have nightmares about where his mouth has been.”

***

“So there's evidence of a vertebral column, but the genetic makeup isn't compatible with any known animal.” Owen has started without him, because Owen is a twat, but he can't be very far into his notes because he and Jack have both managed to wash their faces in the time it took him to dump all the mugs, make fresh and grab a couple slices of fruit cake from the batch Cheyenne made last weekend while he and Jack were hunting down a pair of weevils. “Cake!” It's like working with a particularly tall, dangerous, well educated five year old, the way he breaks off in the middle of his explanation to reach over the samples and try and take the entire plate off the tray.

“I swear I will punch you in the face, Owen, if you don't stop trying to take things off my tray.”

“If we're going to fight over cake, I can always end the fight by eating all of it myself.” They're all children. Every one of them except for Tosh. Jack takes his coffee and cake with a grin, as if he shouldn't rightfully be sick from sneaking around cutting the ends off every single loaf Cheyenne made in the middle of the night whenever he shows up. “So, Owen, any idea what it is?” The urge to make Owen wait till last for his is tempting, but by the time Ianto makes it around to him, he'll have talked his way into Toshiko's so he ignores the smug look and set Owen's food and drink down next to his elbow.

“Nope. I'm gonna scan it, but whoever's farming the meat knows it's dodgy. See this?” He crams half the slice in his mouth with his ungloved hand, poking the slab of deep red meat with a gloved finger. “Official vet stamp 'good for human consumption'? It's fake. A good fake, but a fake.”

“Okay. Tosh, get onto the haulage firm. Find out where the meat is from.” She gets up and snags her coffee on the way out. Gwen takes hers with an absent minded thanks as Ianto passes, complaining nervously to Jack about how uncomfortable she is with this, and he snags Owen's notes from under his plate on the way up the stairs to settle down at his own station. Tosh's Pidgin window pops up before he's had time to put his cup to his lips.

**Toshanovva:** This website is awful. Should I offer to fix it for them?  
 **17Leftshoes:** oh, that's...wow. It makes my eyes hurt. It has an embedded midi player at the bottom and everything.

The clamor of three different people jogging up the stairs is almost deafening. Tosh has her screen swiveled around by the time they reach her desk, the jingle playing as they scan the simple page.

“Catchy.” Gwen gives him an annoyed little glance from the corner of her eyes and Ianto mouths a silent apology.

“Do you think the haulage firm might be in on it too?” Tosh obviously doesn't from the arch in her brow as she glances from the screen to Jack.

“Rhys? No, he doesn't know what's in the vans, just hires them out.” Gwen almost trips over herself to interrupt although that doesn't seem to be reassuring enough to keep her from clenching her fists tightly enough that her knuckles are white.

“The driver must have seen it loaded.” It's a paltry suggestion; Ianto knows there's nothing they could get from the driver now even if they still had the glove, not the way Leighton Reynolds face had looked once they separated it from the steering wheel, but it gives Gwen something to grab for mentally while she catches her balance.

“Right! Which doesn't implicate Rhys. He's the most honest man I know.”

“Have you got his direct line?” Tosh is already pulling up half a dozen programs, slipping her headset on as Gwen pulls up her contacts list. “Let's start by just _asking_.”

The call doesn't go well. Ianto watches Gwen's face go paler and Jack's get stormier the longer Gwen's fiancee stumbles over simple questions, unable to provide the most basic of information on 'Harries and Harries'. Owen goes back down into his domain as something begins to beep and Ianto makes a note for Jack to ask what time the driver signed in and left to pick up before his phone chimes out a text tone. It's the pizza place saying his takeout order is ready for pickup, so he scrawls a quick p.s. that he's off to get lunch and passes it to Jack on the way out.

The winter wind is bitter blowing in off the ocean. Ianto yanks his coat higher around his ears and thinks about calling Cheyenne to let her know they've caught a case before deciding it's too bloody cold to take his mouth out of the blood red scarf wrapped around his face and takes remote access control of his station instead, juggling facts as he walks. The Jubilee Pizza has been gone for months, another economic victim of Abaddon's march, but there's a new place in its spot that's never delivered a pizza to the tourist office under the name Torchwood and Ianto would like to keep it that way, even if that means walking a couple of blocks in the cold. 

The kid behind the counter flirts outrageously with him, the same way she does every time he places the order or comes in to pick it up, and he flirts back even though she's perhaps sixteen with an unfortunate tendency to dye her thin hair day-glo colors and then over perm it, leaving her with two frizzy curled ponytail that sit on the sides of her head like someone stitched miniature clown wigs to her scalp. He just has to respect anyone willing to try pulling someone his age looking like they got their hair done at clown school.

The walk back is done as fast as he can, pizzas tucked in the heating bag Annie carried into the Hub on the last night of her life. He wonders if it makes him callous that he doesn't think of the girl who died every time he picks the bag up now. He used to. He wouldn't even use it for the first couple of months, and now he just grabs it and goes. He thinks it must, because he's not even guilty over not feeling bad.

He drops his stuff just inside the vault doors on the coat pegs and jogs up the half stairs to the main floor, waving it enough to get everyone’s attention and then turning for the stairs and the conference room.

“Pizza's arrived! I presumed it would be a late one.” Owen looks less enthusiastic than normal about pizza when he reaches the room, frowning down at the box before Ianto even has it open.

“What did you get me?”

“Usual. Meat feast.” If his mouth turns down any lower the entire bottom half of his face is going to fall off.

“Lovely.” Ianto rolls his eyes and sets an extra plate next to Owen for the man to put the meat he's begun carefully picking off. Jack and Tosh fill him in on what he's missed in the last fifteen minutes, and he reads out the data he's crunched on his PDA, working out the closest local possibilities based on footage from the cctv and how long it might take to load a truck that large.

“I've narrowed it down to three potential areas. Only one warehouse is unoccupied, just outside Merthyr.”

“Makes sense.” Owen's given up on the pizza proper and seems to have settled on just eating the thick buttery crust. “Who knows what goes on there?”

Jack doesn't even bother swallowing, speaking with his mouth full and never hesitating. “We’ve got to shut the operation down, neutralize whoever's doing this and identify the alien meat. Tosh, I'm going to go call Cheyenne in, have her monitor from here, you can co-ordinate on site.”

“And make sure our car doesn't get stolen again.” It's muttered under his breath, but Tosh still cut her eyes to meet Ianto's and bites the corner of her lip to keep from grinning because they live the kind of life where almost getting eaten by cannibals becomes a running joke about the SUV getting stolen in only a year.

“I have to run home.” Gwen pushes back from the table, yanking up her leather jacket. “Check on Rhys.”

“Good idea.” Jack leans forward, stealing pineapple off Ianto's slice. “Find out how much he knows.”

“That's not why I'm going Jack.” She walks out, very obviously restraining herself from stomping and Jack flops back into his chair with a groan.

“Well, let's see if I can go two for two pissing off my employees.” He flicks on the phone as he gathers his pizza up and heads for the door. “Cheyenne, how attached are you to your day off today?”

**

Chy shows up forty minutes later, pink cheeked with Indiana doing his level best to pull her hair out of her braid and stuff it in his mouth while he squalls.

“He's a monster today and he needs his nap so, please tell me you have the playpen set up already.”

“Up in Jack's office. You should be good to monitor from there on his desktop. Tosh and Jack are waiting to get you synced in and run you through scenarios, so you head right in and _you_ come to Daddy. Come on.” He takes a second to make sure the safety is on his gun and that it's strapped into the holster before reaching for Indy who shrieks and drops Chy's hair, grabbing cheerfully for him. He comes without complaint most days, but this is the first time Indiana has actively picked his father over his mother and Ianto scoops him up with a laugh, blowing raspberries where fat pink cheeks meet penguin sleeper/snowsuit and basking in the shriek directly in his ear. Cheyenne snorts and presses her lips to the corner of his jaw before disappearing up the stairs.

“Gimmie that for a mo' and go make me some coffee.” Owen sidles up and reaches imperiously over for Indiana, glaring viciously when Ianto yanks the infant back and hoists him over his head.

“Make your own coffee, I've just been voted 'better than mummy'! I'm basking in the moment, giving a little acceptance speech in my head and everything.”

“You're sick in the head Jones. You're high or something. Gimmie the spawn and go make me some coffee.”

“You just want a cuddle, you girl. You swooning slip of a maiden, you.” He smirks downward. “I mean, I get to be an idiot about cuddles and no one can say anything, for here I stand with proof of my virility in my arms. You however, are all but lactating you want to hold the baby so bad.”

“I'm going to shoot you in the back today and blame the bad guys. Go make my fucking coffee.” Handing Indiana over is easier knowing he has thoroughly decimated Owen this time. He makes a full round of fresh for everyone and comes back to find Owen and Indiana down in the autopsy bay, where the medic is letting Ianto's six month old whack at a hunk of alien meat with a dowel.

“Owen, why is he hitting the mystery meat with a stick?”

“Because he's too little to give a scalpel, obviously.”

“Obviously.” Ianto rolls his eyes and settles Owen's coffee close enough to the edge that he hopes Indiana knocks it on the floor. “I'm taking this up to the office and I'll be right back for him. Don't let him put the meat end of that stick in his mouth, or I'll be the one shooting you today.”

“I'm shaking. I really am. Come on short stack, your father is losing his mind about a little hunk of extra terrestrial muscle mass. Let's find something else gross to play with. I think I have a brain you can poke...”

Owen must indeed have a spare brain lying around in the chill chest, because in the brief amount of time it takes to get from med bay to Jack's office, everyone up there has managed to get distracted by the internal cctv and they're staring down into the white room.

“Indy has an alien brain, doesn't he?”

“It's gross.” Cheyenne can't tear her eyes away, even as he settles her black in pink pinstriped mug in her outstretched hands. “It has like, six lobes or something. Your kid is thrilled, come take a look.” Indiana is, indeed, pretty happy whacking away at the quivering mass of lurid orange brain matter, squealing with joy every time it wobbles under his enthusiastic strikes. Owen looks almost as amused, his running commentary a low pitched rumble as he seems to be explaining the function of brains in general. “Owen is going to rack up all the cool points forever if he keeps letting Indy play with alien body parts. We will be the mean ones who make him eat veggies and go to bed and Owen will be the one who lets him touch brains.”

“You're just jealous that he's not throwing wobblies anytime he has to go to anyone other than you now.” Jack pokes her in the shoulder to get her attention. “Okay, we're on the clock people, we can't spend the day watching Owen and the baby hit brains with sticks. It's recording, show it to Gwen later if she ever decides to show back up.”

“You don't really think Rhys is involved, do you?” If he's sick of hearing the same doubtful question from all of his staff, Jack doesn't let it show on his face as he looks past Cheyenne.

“Don't know.” Jack has his left thumb tucked into his belt loops as he rocks on the balls of his feet slurping out of his blue and white mug. “My gut says he's just another name to check off the list, but he has to be checked off the list before we tell Gwen that.” Tosh has the interface set up and is puttering around, importing the settings up from Cheyenne's set up down in the head archivists office on the second level a good hundred yards walk from Ianto's. “Does she have eyes and ears Tosh?”

“We're synced in real time between your station, her tablet, the SUV and mainframe and we are ready to go on your orders Jack. I'll be downstairs watching baby's first autopsy until you need me.” Cheyenne watches Tosh walk out the door and down the stairs before reaching out and grabbing Jack by the braces, pulling him out of his pacing to where she's perched on the corner of his desk.

“You are awfully circumspect about saying hello for someone who occasionally answers my phone at three in the morning.”

“That's because I need my team focused and not distracted and they find the three of us awfully distracting.” He leans forward obligingly though, kissing her quickly. “We've got to go, we'll just have to pick up Gwen on the way. I'll bring Indy up, keep the lines open and the cameras on us.”

“I know Jack. Fuck 'em up, come back safe boys.”


	2. Chapter 2

They do not 'fuck em up' although they do make it back to the Hub as safely as one can be with a raging Jack Harkness behind the wheel, cursing in languages Ianto's never heard, spending more time than Ianto's comfortable with glaring at Owen's car in the rear view where Gwen's been banished, and not nearly enough time watching the road.

“None of these people can drive!”

“Or, we might have almost been side swiped by the fact that you ran a bloody red light Jack!” He's got his fingers locked tightly around the 'oh!shit' bar, and it's earning its name today.

“I've got sirens!”

“You didn't turn them on! Bloody fucking Christ Jack!” The sirens come on with a blurt of sound as Jack runs the next stop light. “If you roll this SUV because you're mad at Gwen I will punch you in the fucking face! Slow _down_ Goddamnit!”

Behind them, Tosh has sunk as low in her seat as she can, twisted in her seatbelt so that she can type at lightening speed while trying her hardest to pretend she's not caught in the car with them and the start of a row.

“Hey, you. The hot one running all the red lights for no good reason.” Chy's voice over the open frequency is dry, and she must have Indiana up in her arms, because he's chortling and humming down the line under his mother's words. “If you're looking for an emergency to excuse your speeding, stop by Boots and grab me some more diapers. We had a blowout of prodigious proportions while you were gone and I don't think there are any here. He's had his naked rump right on your desk.” The corner of Jack's mouth twitches up in amusement against his will and Ianto loosens his grip on the safety bar enough to get circulation back in his fingers.

“Well, that makes the whole family then.”

“Classy. Thanks for that mental image Jack.” Owen snarks across the line. “Now I know not to ever put my food down on your desk. _I'll_ stop by since nothing says covert ops like an armored SUV with the word 'Torchwood' written on it picking up nappies around the corner.”

“Good, stop by the steak house on the way in too, because I already placed an order for dinner and paid for it. I'm not going vegetarian just because there's alien cow in the ground stuff.”

**

Gwen misses dinner, everyone gathered around the conference table eating easily identifiable cuts of Earth Cow from a steakhouse with it's own butcher, but she still manages to spoil it by calling halfway through with anxiousness in her voice to tell Jack that she's told Rhys everything and they're both on their way in. The speaker phone clicks off and Jack sets his knife and fork down entirely too calmly, leaning around the table and plucking Indiana's sleepy freshly diapered body out of his bouncy walker.

“I'm taking a break, no one need me for at least ten minutes.” Ianto watches Jack very carefully not stomp his way up to the port holes looking out into the bay through the ocean wall, standing next to them and taking very carefully measured breaths as Indiana slaps his hand against the three inch thick glass.

“So, I don't know about y'all, but I like a drink in my hand when shit starts popping off.” Cheyenne pushes back from the table and shoves all the food off of her plate back into the take away box. “Because chucking a glass across the room makes for a _great_ distraction.”

“Oh, please don't even joke about throwing your drink at either of them today. Something will happen to make it so.” The clean up is really just more of a hasty reboxing and they leave the stacks piled on top of each other on the far end of the table, tromping down to the main level silently until Ianto's yanked enough beers out of the fridge for all of them and brought them back to the group.

“So...” Owen rocks back on his heels. “The fiance finding out. Is this new sharing policy going to become a trend or..?”

“Oh shut up Owen.” Ianto knocks the cover off two, handing them to Tosh and Chy before passing one of the still closed ones to Owen. “Completely different circumstances. This thing with Gwen is unprecedented.”

“Maybe because the rest of us are either sad and single, or um, well.” A flush burns across Toshiko's face as she cuts off the gesture towards Cheyenne and Ianto mid motion, quickly tipping her beer up to hide it.

“What, you think _Ianto_ has the right idea? Would that be the 'only dating someone who knows' policy or the 'shameless public polygamy' policy.”

“Owen!” Tosh is scandalized, beer frozen halfway to her lips. Cheyenne hasn't fared as well, hand clasped to her mouth as she tries and fails to stop laughing long enough to swallow the beer inside.

“What?! We're just going to pretend like we don't know? I ran the blood tests and _you_ bloody well walked in on it two weeks ago in artifacts.” Ianto searches back through his memory to what Owen might be talking about and feels his face go burning red as he remembers. “Everyone knows the three of you are playing house. It's the second worst kept secret in Torchwood, the first being our existence.”

“That's because we weren't keeping it a secret.” Ianto flicks his eyes up to where Jack's still staring out the window into the sea, swaying back and forth with a regular motion that suggests Indiana is asleep. “It just wasn't any of your business.”

The proximity lights for the invisible lift begin to flash, indicating that someone has been on it more than five seconds and Jack turns from the window, jogging down the stairs and giving the sleeping infant over to his mother before flipping over his wrist strap and lowering the lift. Ianto pauses as a click follows behind the hiss of the hydraulics, leaning in to Jack and pitching his voice low.

“Jack, did you just let Myfanwy out?”

“Shit. I think I did. I'm going to need to reprogram this.” Rhys doesn't even startle, spinning in place carefully and craning his neck to watch Myfanwy dive out of her aerie and spin, gliding up and escaping out into the night.

“..re extinct Gwen!” That's Jack's cue. He swaggers forward, shoulders squared back and his biggest, most aggressive grin on his face as he holds out his hand.

“In your time line, yes. Captain Jack Harkness.” Rhys keeps his gaze locked on Jack's as they shake hands until the immortal man turns his back on him, walking back towards his office as he waves over his shoulder. “Thanks for dropping in Rhys.” Gwen flushes a bit, taking her boyfriend by the elbow and yanking him closer to the rest of them.

“You know the rest of our team, Tosh, Cheyenne and Ianto. Owen.”

“Good to see you again.” He keeps looking back and forth between the cavernous hub, gloomy despite the bright sodium lights, and them, trying to make the connection between it and the people he's met at dinner parties and cookouts. “I think.”

Jack's looming at the top of the stairs as they all file by, still smiling that unimpressed smile as they pile into the conference room.

“Welcome to our headquarters.”

“It's a bit bigger than mine.” Genuine amusement slips into Jack's expression as they settle around the table. “So, Gwen says you catch aliens.”

“That's right.” Cheyenne plops Indiana down into his bouncy seat and stuffs one of those strange mostly circular pillows around him. He thumps his head over to the side and continues sleeping.

“There’s a rift through space and time that runs through Cardiff, Rhys, and stuff slips through it from other time lines and planets and it's our job to monitor it.” Rhys looks incredulously from Ianto down to Indiana and then flicks his eyes out to the rift monitor.

“Are you _sure_ they're not some kind of weird cult?” Tosh bites her lip in amusement as Gwen scowls, aiming a look of exasperation at the man next to her.

“You _saw_ that alien in the warehouse. Come on.”

“What _did_ you see?” It's business now. Rhys cuts his eyes curiously between everyone taking out their slim tablets, Ianto hooking the mic up to his and settling it in the middle of the table, and Jack, with the occasional befuddled glance down at the sleeping baby.

“Er...it was this huge shapeless...I'm sorry, isn't catching aliens a bit dangerous for infants?”

“Start 'em young, that's our motto.” Jack drops the chipper tone as quickly as he picked it up. “Back to the alien Rhys.”

“Right, a huge shapeless beast, filling the space. I've never seen anything alive that bloody _big_.”

“So, it's more like one massive entity as opposed to several organisms?”

“The latest tests reveal high levels of chloride,” Owen rolls his chair across the floor and snags his leftovers, scooting back to his place and picking through his cold cheese fries. “So it probably lives in the water. I reckon it came through the rift, into the sea and it’s beached itself.”

“Like a giant alien manatee.” Jack looks at Owen's food pointedly and then away in annoyance as the smaller man takes a bigger bite.

“But how did they get it there if it 'fills the space'? That warehouse must be 50 meters long.” And nowhere near the water. Ianto scowls down at the open files and recording program taking up his processing speed. “Chy, could you find all the rift alerts in the last six months on or near the waters in a ten kilometer radius of Merthyr. Expand outwards in alternating increments of ten kilometers and six months if you don't get a hit and forward what you find to Tosh.” She nods and starts typing away quickly.

“Um, Maybe it was smaller when they found it. Because they said it's growing.”

“It's not _dead_?” Jack's hands are clenched atop the table, knuckles white as he leans back, watching Rhys through a flat stare.

“No. It's breathing.” The man drops his gaze to the table, face paling except where it flushes. “Its eye opened.” Jack looks genuinely horrified under the cracking veneer of cold professionalism and Cheyenne looks faintly sympathetic, but Tosh and Owen look more intrigued than anything.

“So the protein chains regenerate despite the mutilation.” Owen's typing away into his computer hard enough that Ianto can hear his fingertips drumming against the screen. “So not only is it replenishing its own flesh but it's increasing it, giving them a brand-new meat supply.”

“Jesus, it'll last them for _years_.” It's a horrid thing for Gwen to contemplate apparently, her gaze blank with shock at the thought, not that Tosh would notice the way she's flicking through screens and programs, dimming the lights, patching into the wall monitors and yanking the DNA results Owen's fiddling with up onto the screen despite his indignant snarl with her own tablet. Tosh's tech magic looks more impressive when viewed through the naked admiration on Rhys' face as he stares at the glass wall that blackened and became a monitor and the 3-D rendering of the 2-D drawing Owen is fidgeting with in an attempt to add all the information they've gathered without it collapsing in on itself again.

“If we understood how it worked...” There are two cursors on the screen now, Owen still trying to coax a stable map from the scrolling list of proteins, amino acids, and strange alien chemicals that he only has a breakdown for, and Toshiko's as she runs through Owen's spectrophotometer results. “We could feed the world!”

“And then we could release a single.” Chy snickers and he shrugs as Tosh frowns at him. “Tosh, we're trying to _stop_ people from eating it.”

“Don't get ahead of ourselves people. We're talking more than dodgy pies in Merthyr, OK? We're talking something alive and breathing that's being cut up and taken apart while it's still alive, which is never any fun. Trust me.” The clench of his jaw and nervous four count rhythm his foot is lightly tapping out on the floor is enough to quietly shame Tosh and Owen into minimizing their new side project and directing the attention back to Jack. It's been a little more than two months now since Jack came home, and everyone knows he was gone for a year that didn't happen to save the world. They also know he brought a lot more of it home with him than he thinks he did, and to step carefully when the tapping starts. Rhys, however, knows none of this.

“Obviously it isn't fun.” Cheyenne cuts her eyes between Rhys' well intentioned indignation and the way Jack's face has locked down tight, down to where he's started drumming his _fingers_ which has become the new signal to abandon all hope and leans over, wiggling Indy up out of his bouncer. She slides almost unobtrusively out of the room and he's not the only one wishing he could go with them. Tosh is sinking lower in her seat, and Owen matches the way Ianto rolls his chair back from the table to make a lunge should this devolve as quickly as they know it can. “I was there and it was making this sound...”

“Which we could have put a stop to if it wasn't for _you_!” His shout is loud enough the from the corner of eye Ianto sees Chy look upwards from where she's sprawled on the crappy couch on the main floor, Indy sleeping on her chest as she continues to work. Gwen leans forward, digging her fingers into the muscle of her fiance’s forearms as he rocks forward to meet Jack snarl for snarl.

“I thought my fiancee was in danger!”

“She wasn't! She's a professional who can handle herself! The _only_ thing you did today was mess everything up. Now we have to find a new way in and thanks to you they'll have tightened security...”

“If you'd shut your fat gob and stop having hissy fits when you're not showing the place off, you'd have let me finish and heard I got out by telling them I wanted a bloody job! You're looking at the new delivery boy _and_ your way in. So I haven't cocked up a bloody thing, as much as saved you a fuck lot of time, but if you can't handle that, big boy, then you can stuff it!” Rhys has shoved his way to his feet despite Gwen all but throwing herself out of her chair to hold him back, one arm wrenched behind himself where she's yanking on it and the other braced on the table as he leans forward, mimicking the dangerously aggressive looming Jack's doing at him. Under the huffing Owen cocks his head indicating that they should both go for Jack if one of them jumps.

“Jack, I tried to send these files to Tosh and I think I've done something to the rift manipulator!” Cheyenne's voice crackles across the open PA in the Hub and Jack straightens sharply, turning his back on the table.

“Everyone take ten while I sort this out and then meet back here for a planning session.”

“No. No, Jack, he can't. He's not getting us in...” Gwen's voice trails off as he stops in the doorway and whips around sharply, glowering at Gwen until Rhys steps in front of her.

“Team meeting in ten. Everyone. Rhys too.”

**

Ianto's not surprised that the 'accident' with the rift manipulator seems to have cleared itself up by the time he makes it down the stairs, away from everyone milling around in the conference room showing Rhys around and answering his questions.

“I shouldn't have to tell _you_ of all people not to fake a rift alert.” Jack's slumped down in one of the office chairs, running his hands through his hair. Cheyenne is crouched in front of him with her cream colored wool skirt smoothed and tucked under her as she rubs her hands soothingly over the knee of Jack's trousers. Indy continues to sleep peacefully tucked into the corner of the couch and Ianto hurries up into the alcove as his son decides that sleeping on the edge of the narrow couch is the perfect place to learn to roll over in his sleep. Ianto has him scooped up before he manages to do more than shift ponderously onto his side, jiggling him gently back to sleep as he stands close enough to Jack's chair for his hip to press reassuringly against Jack's broad bowed shoulders while simultaneously shielding them from view.

“I didn't. I said I did something to it, and I did. I changed the font color. I had to do _something_ Jack because you were doing that tapping thing again and if Rhys had gotten any closer you were going to flatten him.”

“I wasn't...”

“You were, Jack.” Ianto gives in and lets his hand drop down, carding his fingers through the top of Jack's hair, rubbing circles with the pads of his fingers on the soft skin just behind Jack's ears. “Just take your ten down. Tosh and Owen are telling the black mucus story again.”

“I tell it better.” Cheyenne grins up at him as Jack pouts.

“Jack, you tell most stories better than most people. It's the big arms thing.” Chy folds her own arms, resting them across Jack's thighs and leaning on them, humming low in her throat as he twists his hands through her curls to dig his fingers in counterpoint to his own head rub. “So, obviously no one's doing anything tonight past the planning stage. Am I making enough dinner for you two tonight? Because if you don't come over, I'm just having a sandwich and going to bed.”

“Can't. We need to be close to town.”

“We could all go back to mine. I've got food in the fridge that needs to be eaten and a cot set up for Indy.” They both look up at Ianto. “If you can stand to share space with my shower/tub that is.”

“You're going to harp on my shower-tub disdain for a while, aren't you? A night at yours sounds fantastic. Are you coming Jack?” The corner of his mouth twitches up feebly before it drops away and Jack sighs, tipping his head back onto the solid line of Ianto's side.

“Yeah. Take Indy back to Ianto's and get him settled in for the night but don't bother making anything, we'll be along when we can.”

**

Four hours later, Ianto is keeping his eyes open only by pure will power as he pulls his car into the parking space for his flat that it occupies less and less often, tie hanging undone and cuffs and collar unbuttoned. He doesn't stumble, but he is going to have to polish his shoes because he's scuffing the toes as he shuffles and yawns in the early morning blackness. The cold air doesn't wake him up so much as make him long miserably for his bed and the warm body in it. Jack follows him up the stairs at an equally sluggish pace and he's gotten spoiled only having to walk up to the bedroom on the second floor. The keys fumble the lock twice, because of course the bloody bulb has blown again in the hall, before he stumbles into his flat. There's a soft multicolored glow coming from the other side of the half wall next to the door where the slope of the ceiling comes down sharply and Cheyenne has set the cot up there, out of the way and easily seen from the doorway of his bedroom. Indiana is sprawled out on his back, thumb popped into his mouth and that silly blue dinosaur Gwen bought clenched tightly in his other fist, soft light from a strange little lamp that has a plastic film covered in fishes rotating around the bulb shining on his face. Ianto wants to kiss him, but he's still freezing cold from the winter night outside and there's nothing in him that's able to stay awake with his son when the boy wakes up from the press of cold lips. Jack already has his coat tossed across the back of the kitchen chairs and is straddling one of the bar stools, chuckling low over a note and two foil covered plates under the glow of his track lights on their lowest setting. Ianto kicks his shoes off, hanging his coat and Jack's next to the door. By the time he sprawls next to Jack, there are beers on the counter and the note has been shoved in front of him.

_'Was going to make stuffed shells and then remembered there's alien in my hamburger. Went to a different store instead and got easily identifiable chicken. Eat, and the first one to put their cold toes in the back of my knees gets one to the face, swear to god.  
Cheyenne'_

“For a linguist this is the worst note ever. She's missing several vital pieces of grammatical information.” The food smells good, rice and peas in a pile of yellow and green, baked chicken to the side. Jack's already tucking in, head pillowed in his hand.

“Mostly pronouns. It's fine. This is good. She left gravy and everything.” Ianto wishes she hadn't, mostly because Jack has thrown his already abysmal table manners out the window, slopping his food together in a big unattractive pile.

“Jack, do you have to make slop every time? It's the most repugnant thing I've ever seen. Not even repulsive, _repugnant_ , and the color...it looks like wall paper paste at the best of times.” He pauses, trying not to look over at Jack, reaching for a slice of cold toast. “And then you put it on bread! _Why_? Why do you eat slop on bread?”

“We cooked everything together on the Boe. In these really tall pots that kept the sand out and wrapped soft things like this in these things kind of like a pita, only _not_ disgusting and bland. I mean, you still ate sand with every meal, but you got a lot less of it.”

“So it's comfort food?” Jack shrugs one shoulder absently as he takes another bite. “All right. At least you don't do it in public.” The corner of his mouth quirks up around the over large bite of food.

“Just at home. I'm not _that_ badly housebroken, thank you.”

“Says the man with his mouth full of slop.”

The bedroom is chilly, window cracked the slightest hair to offset the enormous pile of blankets and comforters piled over Cheyenne. She's curled on the edge closest to the door, hair spilling across the pillows and off the bed. The sound that comes out of her throat is a low purring hum, her body warm and pliant as she rolls to sprawl across Jack's bare chest as soon as he flops onto the middle of the bed.

“Yer cold.” The words are barely English, but the meaning behind her sleepy muttering is obvious, the way her hands rub Jack's arm before fumbling for the pile of blankets, yanking at them until she's tugged the entire contents of Ianto's linen closet up over the three of them.

“You're not.” It's a tight fit, the three of them in Ianto's bed. Not as ridiculously tight as he and Jack in Jack's bed, but close enough that there's only two ways they can sleep on it; curled up on their sides, or the person in the middle being primarily slept on. Jack stretches out his other arm, which never bodes well for the night if he's arranging himself so that he'll wake pinned and unable to swing. Ianto curls against him with a sigh, slipping his own arm under Jack's shoulders for extra control. “Sleep.”

“mmmkay. Nite” She's slumped back down into a deep sleep as easily as that, fingers curled loosely on the smooth plains of Jack's chest close enough to brush the edge of Ianto's jaw as he shifts and tries to find a spot he's comfortable.

**

When Jack does wake them, it's better and worse than Ianto thought it would be. Better because it's almost dawn by the look of the light trying weakly to make its way into the room, longer than he thought they'd get, but much worse than Ianto thought the actual nightmare itself would be. Worse than any he's seen since the first time. There's not enough forewarning to jostle either of them awake with Jack's tossing and turning. Instead, Ianto comes awake taking a shoulder to the side of the head with Jack shrieking bloody murder right in his ear. He's tried to spring upwards, knocking Cheyenne completely off the bed before the tangle of arms and blankets catch him. In the other room Indiana sets up a wailing counterpoint that sends Chy scrambling off the floor and out of the room while it seems to be making things worse with Jack. He whips his head back and forth, trying to track the sound with eyes that are open, even though he's still very much trapped in the middle of a some old hell.

“Jack. Wake up. You're fine Jack, come on.” There's nothing that works every time. Sometimes the man can be soothed back to sleep without ever waking completely up, most days a sharp sound or rough shake will do it, but this is one of the rough ones where the only thing Ianto can do is wrestle the older man to the bed and restrain him from hurting himself or anything around him until it fades enough to wake him. “You're fine, I've got you and whoever you think is hurting you is dead and in hell. I promise you Jack, you're okay. Come on, you're safe.” He's straddling Jack's legs, arms wrapped around him as tightly as he can and head tucked low into the curve of throat under Jack's ear. He's learned to be proactive with him own safety on nights like this if only to avoid the inevitable cloud of gloom that follows the captain around until whatever bruise it is vanishes, no matter how accidentally it was given.

Indiana has stopped wailing and Cheyenne pauses in the doorway, lip curled under her teeth before crossing the room and opening the window as wide as it will go, hissing through her teeth as the icy winter wind hits her bare skin and cuts through the threadbare tee shirt she's wearing like it's nothing. The cold gust skates up Ianto's spine, drawing the same low noise from himself as from Cheyenne. It's fucking _miserable_ outside. Snowflakes are whipping in past the curtains, landing in her hair and melting into little glittering beads in the pinkish grey light. Under him Jack goes still, save for the rapid hitching of his chest, gooseflesh springing up everywhere the freezing air touches his sweaty body.

“God I hate the snow. Is he coming around yet?”

“Yep.” The icy air slides between their bodies, making Ianto regret every centimeter he puts between his body and Jack's. It's hard to see in the dim corner of the bedroom where Ianto has his bed, but he still catches a glimpse of the trembling edge of Jack's mouth as he gasps for air. “Am I going to catch one to the face if I let you go Jack?”

“No. I'm awake. I'm fine. I'm okay.” Cheyenne slides the window half shut, skirting around yesterdays shirts and trousers on the floor to climb up onto the bed behind Jack. Her hair is bigger than normal, sticking as close to straight up as hair that long can from her tumble to the floor.

“Good.” If the stale fear sweat covering him bothers her, Ianto can't tell as she curls against Jack, pressing her lips to his shoulder. “Then can I go get Indy because he's not going back to sleep this close to daylight without a cuddle.”

“Let me go get cleaned up first.” Jack stumbles to his feet, legs trembling hard enough that Ianto worries he's going to have to come off the bed to catch the older man before Jack squares his shoulders back, locks his legs and strides out of the room. Motion catches his eye and Ianto looks over at Chy, rolling her left shoulder gingerly with a grimace on her face.

“It's fine.” She waves him away before he can do more than shift in her direction. “The nightstand caught me when I fell off the bed. It just throbs a little.”

“Indulge me.”

It's going to be a hell of a bruise. Already the blood is rushing up dark enough to be visible in the watery light of predawn. It feels like they've been trying to wake Jack for hours, the early hour and dump of adrenaline distorting his body's natural sense of time, but the shift in the light, almost imperceptible as the sun takes its time creeping upwards, says five minutes is a generous estimate. There's a scrape along the line of her shoulder blade, not enough to bleed, but she'll definitely be feeling the raw skin today. She mutters curses under her breath as Ianto feels his way around the edges of the forming bruise carefully.

“I should go.” Jack's voice drifts in from the doorway and Ianto doesn't have to look up to know his eyes are scanning the floor looking for his clothes and a quick escape. This is the part Ianto hates the most. Not the sudden jar from sleep to wakefulness that leaves him spending the entire day in a low level of fight-or-flight, or the fact that it's rare for him to get back into a restful sleep afterward, but the way Jack always tries to disappear as soon as he's got himself calmed enough to dress.

“You really shouldn't.”

“I threw her off the _bed_! I _threw you_ off the bed!” He's speaking slowly, hands clenched as he tries not to shout. “I know I did, the fucking night table is a good two inches away and sitting crooked.”

“You're going to make me say this out loud, aren't you you utter dick.” Cheyenne shoves her hair back out of her face, pinning the mess flat against her head as she stares incredulously. “We don't _want_ you to go Jack. We _never_ want you to leave just because you're having a rough patch. I'm a grown ass woman sweetie, and well aware that you have almost a foot and a good eighty pounds on me. I know you're very capable of hurting me when you're freaking out like that but I'm taking the chance because _I_ think you're worth it. I think this weird thing the three of us are doing is worth getting knocked out of the bed by accident _one time_. Drama Lama.”

“I am no man's lama.” When he walks, at least it's towards them, perching restlessly on the foot of the bed, hands scraping through his hair. “Cheyenne, this isn't...what if I had got my hands on you first?”

“Dummy.” There's an unpleasantly dampish spot where Jack sweated through the sheets that she crawls across, dropping heavily next to him and resting her head along the curve of his bicep where it doesn't quite reach his shoulder even when they sit side by side. “I'm not...dude, this sounds cold in my head, but I'm literally not coming anywhere in arms reach of you having flashbacks and night terrors Jack, and I'm definitely not climbing in bed with you alone on a bad night. I'm not stupid. I know you could start wilding out and have me up against the wall by my neck before either of us know it. I learned that lesson _years_ before I met you, so stop. If you need some air, or to take a walk, go on. But come _back_ when you're done and don't use me as your excuse to run off. I'm making my choices like a big girl and I'm choosing this.”

“Okay.” Jack slings his arm around her, squeezing tight enough to make her squeak as he presses his lips to the cloud of snow damp hair. “Grown woman, yadda yadda, Chy is a bossy smartie pants who has an answer for everything.”

“Yes, yes I am. Are you going to loom on rooftops for a while, or are you coming back to bed?”

“I'm compromising and looming out on the balcony. Go back to sleep if you can, it's going to be a long day. I'll come back if there's still time.”

**

Jack eventually makes it back to bed twenty minutes before the alarm, sliding in behind Ianto with skin icy enough to startle him into awareness with a sharp jerk that has Indy flailing on the edge of wakefulness between them. They both freeze perfectly still, watching the tiny body cradled between he and Chy as small fat limbs twitch spastically outward, fat little cupid's bow of a mouth quivering open threateningly before Cheyenne snuggles closer in her sleep, hand spread to cover his round little tummy and Indiana drops back into sleep without ever opening his eyes.

'Sorry.' it's an almost soundless whisper in his ear as Jack doesn't back away, burrowing closer to him until his face is buried in Ianto's hair and they're pressed together in a long line, Jack leeching as much of Ianto's body heat as he can absorb by osmosis. There's no sleeping now, not with two wake-ups in less than an hour, but Ianto sinks into the mattress and lets himself float in the pale blackness behind his lids. Jack is coming back to his normal furnace like body temperature, rewarming him where they're plastered together. The arm tossed across Ianto's hips is stretched out and he's seen it enough to know without opening his eyes that Chy has her legs tucked up because her shins are pressed against his thighs and Jack is sweeping the back of his knuckles over the faded, almost invisible scar that twists from top of her shin half way back to her calf.

Ianto lets himself doze lightly until Jack twists around, turning off the alarm before it can ring and leans across Ianto, pressing him into the mattress.

“All right friend, we can end our silent staring contest now. You win this round. Come on you round wet thing you, nappy time.” Indy squeals as Jack tugs him upright, and digs his fat little feet right into Ianto's liver trying to walk over his father to get to Jack.

“If you're going to keep kicking daddy in the liver, I'm going to have to make a drastic cutback on the liquor, because my body can't take both. Ow!” His eyes pop open as his offspring adds insult to injury by squealing with glee that daddy is awake and stomping again. “Less stomping daddy please. Chy.” She groans, shoving a pillow over her head. “Cheyenne, you've got to get up if you intend on washing your hair.”

“I'm not. I have to cancel my salon appointment for this morning and everyone will just have deal with the nappiness of it all for a day.” He's going to need a changing table if this is going to be a regular occurrence when they're busy, because Jack has taken Indy out to the living room and has him laid on the couch as he whips the baby in and out of a diaper like a pro, yelling over his shoulder.

“Don't do that. We need a familiar hand running things at the Hub today in case things go south. This is going to be one of a thousand cases where we're not going to need you. Go do whatever you had planned for the day.”

“Does that include taking the conference call to South Africa you're supposed to be on at three?” Her hair _is_ looking extraordinarily big still as she shoves the pillow to the floor and stares sleepily out at them through it all. “Which you have forgotten all about, from the silence.”

“Don't even remind me. Yes, take my conference call in the highly likely event that we're still in the field at three.”

“I'll text Rhiannon and have her pick Indiana up from nursery. Come on,” The tee shirt has ridden up, faded red cotton twisted up around her waist and Ianto gives in to the urge to pinch the top of her bum. “Up.” Cheyenne whips her head back around from Jack's direction, glaring at him as he grins unapologetically.

“First, you're still in bed in your drawers, so don't start rushing me son. Secondly, stop pinching me Ianto Jones. Leave my butt alone.”

“I can't. It's just so round. It's hypnotizing.” He leans over and pops the back of his fingers across the roundest curve, watching it jiggle as she kicks at him. “It's like a jelly mold.”

“Jack's right. You are a master of unflattering phrases. Jiggling privileges are now revoked.” A squeak slips from her, high and thoroughly girly, as Ianto lunges, flipping her onto her back and pressing her into the tangle of bedding, ignoring the stale taste of their mouths to kiss her deeply until she stops jabbing at his ribs and strokes her hands up his back into his hair. Long legs slide up the length of his body, wrapping snugly across his hips.

“Revoked, huh?” He's smirking and knows it, letting his gaze wander over her flushed and bitten lips and the twist of annoyance on them with satisfaction.

“Shut up and get off me.”


	3. Chapter 3

Catch and Release  
Torchwood  
Jack/Ianto/Cheyenne,  
Warnings; show level violence, minor angst, bits of fluff stuffed in here somewhere  
R  
Summary; Things are going well at Torchwood three, until a tipped semi drags the team into a case that hits too close to home. A Blocking take on "Meat"  
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, locations, and dialogue are property of RTD, BBC, and all other invested persons.

The back of a haulage lorry is an awful place to ride for an hour and a half first thing in the morning. The only light is coming from the glow of Gwen and Owen's phones as they play battleship through the 4G connection on their phones, taunting each other in pantomime as hits land or ships are missed. Normally he and Tosh would be just as distracted on their own phones and they've been known on long stakeouts to get Jack in on a wireless game of rummy, but Jack is pacing the twenty foot trailer without a hitch in his step despite the desperate need for new shocks that have jostled the rest of them roughly, knocking Gwen flat twice now. Jack is pacing, Tosh is back at the Hub, and between the jostling, adrenaline, and smell of nervous people and exhaust Ianto's balanced on the edge of nausea as he checks and preps the tasers and stun guns. The truck slows into another right turn which is their signal. He's already sliding weapons across the floor when Tosh breaks radio silence.

“Right, I've got their internal cctv network. Rhys is pulling up to the barrier of the slaughterhouse. I've got an aerial view, be ready to move out on my mark.” The lorry shudders to a stop and they all flow up silently into a low crouch, freezing on point in the darkness as they wait to be caught or passed through. “You're in. Get ready, there's a place between two of the buildings you can slip out at.” The rumble of the engine shifting gears is enough cover sound for them to begin making their way silently to where Jack is standing on their mark at the small door set in the side of the trailer. “Go.”

The daylight is almost blinding as Jack slides the door back silently, coat swaying with the movement of the vehicle and wind. His eyes are intense as he silently cues them out the door and Ianto steps up, looks at the slushy grey snow where it's been driven through and aims for the snowbank three feet away, shoving himself out the door and hitting the bank on hands and knees, Owen dropping out next to him. Gwen almost misses the snowbank completely, flopping roughly on both knees and skidding off into the slush with a grimace. Jack, the bastard, swings out like some kind of action hero, one hand gripping the leverage bar, his feet planted against the side of the moving vehicle as he slides the door shut in one smooth motion and drops straight back, landing in a light crouch inches from the monstrous wheels and standing carefully. The turbulence from the truck tires toss the tails of his coat around his calves and sometimes Jack is so much a fucking _hero_ that Ianto can't help but get off on it a little. He adjusts himself on the pretext of shaking snow out of his trousers, but the look in Jack's eyes as he signals them off in their separate directions says he knows.

Owen takes point, weapon out as Tosh murmurs in their ear and guides them through the dim back halls of the warehouse. He doesn't need Tosh to tell them how close they are to the creature. The funk from the lorry was nothing compared to the pain and fear soaked sweat reek of the creature. He can't help the low sarcastic noise of disgust from rumbling up out of his throat. Owen gives him a look of agreement and waves him forward, veering off to the left under Tosh's orders.

He's supposed to be making his way to the back entrance, locking exits as he goes, and then pulling the rear fire alarm, forcing everyone to funnel into his area with Jack coming to cover the other door and pin them in, leaving Gwen to watch Owen's back while he does what he can for their newest pet. Ianto's still not sure where they're going to put it. The Sea Queen's berth will hopefully be good enough while the thing convalesces, but the weighted steel mesh net they've got to drop across the entrance won't hold something bigger than their boat once it's better. Owen's warning, sharp across the coms, distracts him from his back-of-the-mind thoughts about having to hire welders. If these idiots are all carrying, his part of the plan has become a hell of a lot more dangerous. The stairs ring under his shoes as he runs down them at speed, slapping the alien tech against the door and flipping it on. They're not sure what it's actually for, but on Earth it does a great job of stripping away the ionic barrier of metal and only metal, causing it to fuse together as fast and hard as it does in space. The light goes green almost instantly as every metal bar, gear, and latch inside the door fuse together into one solid immovable piece. Ianto shoves it back into his pocket, wheeling on his heels and comes face to face with a worker walking through the other door.

“Shit!” He forces a cheerful, confused, sort of smile on his face as Tosh curses in his ear. “The camera is out in that hall Ianto, I never saw him.”

“Hello. I have a...thingy here...somewhere.” He makes a show of touching his pockets lightly, working his way towards his holster and trying to bumble his way closer without making himself too off balance. The man scowls in annoyance as Ianto slides his hand into the breast of his suit jacket and closes it around the hilt of his taser. “Hell of a day.” The man is still wearing the same short tempered, expectant expression on his face when Ianto swings the weapon out, pressing it to the center of his chest and pulling the trigger. The man goes down in a heap and Ianto twists his hands in the coveralls, dragging the deadweight across the halls to one of the doors he hasn't melded shut yet, slinging the man through the door, yanking the gun from his trousers, and brushing himself down.

“Can anyone tell me if Rhys got away?” Gwen's whisper sounds frantic and Tosh is cursing the fact that the place the truck is pulled into is just one large blind spot.

“I'll check now.” Another hall down and he'll be able to see the truck from the door he's going to lock if it's still there. The sounds of his footsteps sound too loud as he runs for the far door. He can just barely see the top of the trailer as he goes through at speed and skids to a halt on his heels right as Tosh starts screaming for him to run and two men round the corner with guns out.

“Hey, hey, hey!” He can't really focus on the man speaking to him when all he can see is the barrel pointed casually between his eyes. This is, unsurprisingly, just as terrifying as it was the first time and every time since. Whatever happens to scab over fears never seems to happen to him when it comes to having less than ten inches of space between his brain and a bullet. “You looking for someone? How many more of you?!”

“Just us.” Tosh is cursing fast and foul under her breathe, trying to coordinate a rescue for him when Owen's busy mixing unstable shit that has to be monitored and Jack and Gwen are pinned down with an alien whale and an alerted plant between them and himself.

“You thought the two of you could take _us_ out?” The cold muzzle taps the furrow between his brows and all he can think about is the way Indiana smells after a bath and the embarrassingly large pile of gifts he has piled in his storage room. “Nah, you're not that stupid. Dave, get some ropes and tie their hands. I want every door locked inside and out. Nobody leaves the building till this is sorted. Move it!”

It doesn't take long for Dave to return, tying his hands behind him. The knots aren't great, the rope is well worn hemp, and the idiot hasn't made him unclasp his hands from around his wrists. Ianto stumbles as they yank his elbows halfway up his back, jerking him along. Tosh follows him in the cctv, mapping out their passage on the open coms and tracking them for Jack and Gwen. A third man joins them at the corner of the hallway, shoving Rhys along ahead of him. He's terrified, Ianto can see it in his eyes, but damned if he isn't keeping his shit together. His jaw is locked, a snarl to impress twisted across his face as they shove through long plastic sheets into a room so full of blood, and heat, and the sounds of pain that for one long terrifying second between steps he's fully convinced he's back in London, running screaming through the guttering halogen lights. He stumbles over his own feet, snapping back to himself and the very real danger he's in now as rough hands jerk him onto his feet inches from a wall of flesh that fills his entire view.

“What is it?”

“The lads call it the cash cow.” Rhys makes a small strangled noise low in his chest and Ianto knows before he turns around that the gun is nestled against Rhys' skull. Somewhere where the bone is thin, or the light can glint off the metal and into your peripherals.

“Dale, what are you doing?” The man holding Rhys, smaller and nervous looking is the obvious weak spot in their guard. Ianto shifts his weight to the balls of his feet, turning towards them.

“They couldn't bear to see us making money Vic. Fancied some for yourselves, eh? Thought we'd be a pushover?” Rhys laughs bitterly and Ianto liked the bloke well enough before, but his respect for Gwen's fiancee is growing by leaps and bounds every second they stand here.

“Mate,” He snickers. “You're _so_ out of your depth.” Ianto wonders what the other man is thinking of. If it's of Gwen, or the bullet, or maybe just how much he wishes he were somewhere else right now.

“Funny. I was thinking the same about you. Show yourself or I shoot the delivery boy!” The next three seconds are a clamor of Tosh and Owen's voices, yelling down the line at Gwen as she does the one thing she swore she wouldn't, and steps out with her arms over her head. It only gets worse from there. Tosh is trying to get Jack closer without being seen, but this is a bigger operation than they imagined and the catwalks are filling, men pouring in from every direction. There are at least fifteen men in the room with them now and there's nothing to be done when one of them calls out Jack's position. “You! Drop your weapon!”

Jack tosses his Webbley to the side, hands held above his shoulders and palms in towards his scalp as he threads them together slowly. “Do you know what you've got here Dale?”

“Shut up!”

“It's an alien.” Jack comes towards them like there aren't more than a dozen weapons in the room with him and none in their hands, speaking low and slowly. “A creature from another galaxy. It came through a rift in time and space and was unlucky enough to find you.”

“No.” Nervous Victor is shifting around, hands clenched into white knuckled fists as he looks between the alien and Jack who froze the moment the gun dug harder into Rhys's hair. “No way.”

“Did you really think it originated on this planet? Have you ever seen anything like it before? Look at it. Just _look_ at it and what you're doing to it!” This is going bad quickly. Jack is shouting, Vic is freaking out, rocking back and forth between Jack and the alien and Dale isn't doing much better. Losing his shit at the top of his lungs; screaming about money and how it feels to have something for the first time before yanking the weapon away from Rhys.

“No. You lied.” The barrel swings for Gwen and Ianto flexes his forearms one last time, yanking his way out of the rope he's been picking at since they stopped. The gun goes off too fast, the shot deafening as Rhys throws himself in front and Ianto jerks forward, throwing himself at the armed man and wrestling his wrists above his head. People are screaming his name and Ianto doesn't care because he's really fucking sick of having people try and blow his goddamned brains out. Dale is squeezing the trigger and the report is vibrating up his arms as he fights dirty, delivering quick sharp shots with his knees to the big muscles of Dale's thighs, forcing their arms down enough to smash his elbow into the sharp ridge of Dale's collar bone. The gun has stopped firing and Ianto doesn't know if the other man is out of bullets or just had his finger jarred off the trigger, but when he draws back to knock a few teeth loose he does know that Dale's hit is going to land first. He goes off his feet, too committed to the punch to pull back and ends up on the ground, staring up and back into the gun. “Die!”

He's not faster than a bullet. He's not going to roll, or slide, or stand, or do anything other than sit here with his fucking eyes closed and hate that his life is ending now when there's so fucking much just starting. The barrel steadies, and people are screaming his name, but it's all just a wash of static under the low cold sound of the hammer striking down on an empty chamber. Ianto opens his eyes, pushes away the thought of how his pillows smelled this morning; like baby wash and Jack, coconut shampoo and expensive perfume and hopes the man looming over him can see exactly how much he's going to enjoy making him pay for thinking he'd never have those things again.

“Shit!” Dale throws the gun, whirling in place and taking off through the pallets.

“Ianto!” Jack's voice reaches him faintly, through the red rage pounding through him with every too fast heartbeat. He cuts his eyes to his left, looking past the running streams of panicking people heading for sealed doors and hundreds of tons of flesh straining in its severed bonds to Jack, staring at him through too wide eyes, even as he backs towards the more immediate danger. His eyes are screaming, even as he tightens his mouth. “Go after them!”

Just what he wanted to hear.

“Tosh!”

“The twitchy one's heading right for Owen. The other one is heading for a portion of the building you already sealed off.” He wants Dale. He wants, more than anything, to run down Dale like a dog, out of sight of everything and everyone, but if Owen can't get out, Rhys is in trouble and the alien can't be calmed. He lets Toshiko guide him through the warren of narrow halls, slamming open the door at the end of the furthest one and reaching around Owen to take the stumbling whining vet in the back of the neck with his stun gun, dropping him to the floor.

“You've got to help them Owen. It's out of control.”

“Right. Change of plans then.” He stays long enough to watch Owen's back as he grabs a large syringe and a big bottle, peeling off left as the medic goes right. There's an office down the far hall to the right, one that looked a lot nicer than the rest when he was locking down and Ianto stalks his way there, turning off his com as Tosh tries to tell him to wait for backup. Dale and another man are hunched over the desk, shoving money into a satchel when he kicks the door open. The stranger comes for him and goes down under a blow to the chest and a quick jolt from the sparking taser in his hand. Ianto doesn't spare him a glance, never takes his eyes off Dale as he kicks rolling chairs across the floor, storming towards him. The man is whey faced as he reaches for his gun, cursing loud and long as Ianto runs the last step, kicking his foot up as hard as he can into the soft underside of Dale's wrist. The scream he utters does little to soothe the urge to pull his Sig from under his jacket and put two between those stupid confused cow eyes of his.

“You tried to kill me today Mate, and the only reason I'm not killing you now, is I don't want to go home to my kid with your blood on my hands.” Dale crumples to the ground, cradling his broken wrist and Ianto locks his fingers in the greasy mop covering the man's head, wrenching it back. “But if that thing out there hurts my friends, I've got enough soap to change my mind. Pray they survive.”

You should never deliver a mid to high voltage directly to the head. It's the first thing Jack drills into their head when he puts the police issue taser into anyone’s hand; never the head, avoid the spine and heart as much as possible. Ianto looks down at it, considers the fact that he's broken all the taser safety rules today and doesn't think twice about stabbing it into the crumpled forehead of the man staring up at him.

**

There's nothing else that can be done by the time Ianto makes his way back to the slaughter room. Rhys is bleeding on the floor, Owen over him working a frantic triage with Gwen's assistance and Jack has his hands pressed to the massive wall of flesh, forehead resting against tender pinkish-grey skin near an eye bigger than any Ianto has ever seen. His shoulders are heaving as he stands there, mourning with the thing as it makes a sound that says clearer than anything else that there's nothing they can do for this animal. They won't need the hundred foot flatbed he has reserved, or the pull behind slings on stand by with British divers marine rescue to tow it behind the Sea Queen back to Cardiff.

“Toshiko, we're coming home alone. Call and cancel our requisitions please.”

**

They burn down that entire corner of the industrial park. There's no way to move that much dead weight, not without butchering it and Jack is almost feral at the thought of anyone else putting a blade to the creatures' skin. In the end they load nineteen handcuffed men into the back of the lorry at gunpoint and Ianto calls fire and rescue as he's setting C-4 throughout the building, giving his Torchwood code and calling out four water trucks.

“For the safety of your men, and in the interest of national security, make sure every man on your ladders today knows not to attempt to put out the burning building. You're only job is to keep the flames contained to this one area.”

Jack insists on setting the blaze himself, arguing the rest of his team into the back of the lorry with the prisoners before giving Ianto a sickly half a grin.

“So, ready to practice hauling a big rig?”

He's not ready.

The big truck feels precariously balanced, ready to roll at the slightest sharp turn and the ride in the driver’s seat is hardly better than the ride in the back. Every bump jars up through the seat as Ianto fumbles his way through getting it in motion, listening to Toshiko's instructions as she reads from the drivers manual Jack had him download yesterday. The gears grind viciously several times as he forces it up to speed, aiming for the gate that's swung and locked shut.

“Owen, brace Rhys back there, we're going through the bloody gate.” From the wing mirrors he sees Jack come running like a bat out of hell around the corner as smoke begins curling into the air behind him. “And open that side door for Jack.”

He doesn't think Jack will make it before they hit the gates, not at the speed Ianto's working them up to, but Jack disappears from his view and he hears heavy winded panting into the coms seconds before impact. Owen's reassurance that they're now fully loaded get drowned out by the scream of metal as several tons of haulage van meets gate and wins.

**

Cheyenne is already there by the time they make it back to the Hub and from the extra thick state of her hair, pulled back in a french braid, and the guilty look on Tosh's face, she gave Jack's order to go about her day exactly five seconds of consideration before coming in anyway. She's waiting with the other woman next to a gurney in the loading bay, hands tucked into her jean pockets as Jack and Owen help Rhys manhandle himself out of the SUV.

“Wow, you took a bullet and everything, huh? We'll have to dig into the prize jar and get you a super secret decoder ring.” The man laughs, a tight pained sound, and Ianto falls back out of the way, reaching out to hold Cheyenne's wrist as everyone else rushes towards the autopsy bay.

“Hold on. Help me unload the kit since you're here.”

He meant to actually unload the SUV. It was a real plan that he completely intended to follow, all the way until Chy hopped up into the backseat, feet dangling out the door and arse in the air as she checks under the seats and Ianto's not sure what happened after that. All he knows for certain is that he's getting to be as bad as Jack, because they're in the truck, on Gwen's side of the back seat, one of his feet braced on the running board through the _open door_ as he fucks her. It's fast and dirty, their clothes shoved aside and her jeans have slid off the one leg they were still on to fall to the cement next to the tires. She hisses as he fumbles the elastic out of her hair, yanking too hard when it tangles and ripping it free until it's falling in a cloud around them, somewhere familiar to dig his shaking hands into as he chases down one of the scents that he thought would be his last thoughts. Chy's being as quiet as she can, one hand braced against the roof, pushing down against him as he thrusts hard and fast into her and does not think about the pitch black inside of a gun barrel and the way he reeks of cordite and blood and she doesn't. She curls around him, panting and moaning directly in his ear and when he comes, it's like a tsunami; ripping up from the tips of his toes and whiting out, for several fantastic seconds, everything but the smell of her hair and the way she's murmuring in his ear.

“You're fine soldier. You made it home.” He flops back against the seat, gasping for breath and letting his foot dangle out the door above the cement floor, trousers dragging in the grime as they hang from his shoe.

**

Later he'll wonder why it caught him by surprise. Everything else went wrong, so of course this would too, but somehow Ianto isn't expecting Gwen to storm back into the Hub less than an hour after Jack sent her and Rhys home with a prescription from Owen for painkillers and two days worth of retcon.

“I'm not doing it. I won't drug him.”

The fight gets ugly, quickly, and he's honestly not expecting Gwen to round on him with a snarl as they try to talk her into doing the right thing. There's a desperation in her eyes as she glares at him, fists clenched and tears wavering in her gaze.

“Don't _talk_ to me about rules, Ianto Jones. You have _no idea_ how this feels because you don't have a life outside Torchwood. You eat, sleep, shit, and _fuck_ Torchwood! You literally, exclusively, fuck people who do this crazy shit we do! I'm the only one with a partner outside of this _shite_ and I can't do it anymore! You _don't_ know how I feel because you all look at life outside of the Hub as something lonely, strange, and cold and it's not! Not for me, because I have him and he matters to me. He _matters_. And I've lied to him for so long; long enough. What he did today was so brave. It was braver than what we did today because we signed up for it all and he didn't! He did everything he did because he _loves me_ and I won't take that away from him!” She turns on her heel, glaring at Jack before anyone can come up with a response. “I won't! And if you can't show me the same consideration you were willing to show Ianto when it was Cheyenne, then I quit. I will quit and you can retcon me, or whatever I don't care, but I'm not doing it!”

It's about to get even uglier. Tosh and Owen are actively moving away as Jack's hold on his water bottle tightens enough for the thin plastic to crinkle loudly.

“Completely different circumstances Gwen...”

“Why, because you're not fucking _us_?!”

Everyone freezes, unable to process the screaming fight in the middle of the floor and the perfect ironic timing as the entry lights begin to flash and Cheyenne steps in, back from the food run with arms full of Thai take away, pausing on the inside of the vault door as it rolls itself shut behind her.

“Okay...” Her eyes dart back and forth between them all as everyone stares down at her. “I have obviously missed something very important here.”

“No, you're right on time.” Jack keeps his eyes on Gwen as he speaks. “What's your security clearance, Dr. Morgan?”

“My...just here or all of it?” Gwen looks ready to belt Jack one right across the face as Chy cocks her hip to support the brown paper bag in her arms.

“All of it.”

“I've got Developed Vetting clearance in the United Kingdom, all ranked member of the Torchwood Institute do, Sensitive Compartmental Information clearance by the United States Government as a civilian consultant for SHIELD, Level three clearance inside Torchwood, and minimum secure access with Torchwood's off shoot agencies in South Africa, India, Russia, and China.” It's occurred to Ianto before that Cheyenne must have access at least equal to his to be able to send and receive classified mail through Mainframe's servers, but he didn't realize it extended so far. Her levels are mostly specialized, clearing her to see anything she wants within reason to her field and little else, but it still means that as far as being able to request information and access governmental files goes, the only person in the Hub with higher clearance is Jack himself.

“Which would, technically, mean you _came_ to Torchwood with a higher security clearance than the rest of the team, correct?” He cocks one eyebrow at Gwen. “Do you _really_ not see the difference here Gwen Cooper, between not retconning someone with those qualifications versus your fiancee? It's not the same. You really think you could just go back to your life before Torchwood?” Ianto yanks his gaze away from the seriously heavy staring Jack and Gwen are doing to watch comprehension spread across Cheyenne's face as Gwen tells Jack calmly that she'd hardly know anything different if she did walk.

“Well, this is tense and awkward and as much as I'd love to keep being the unimpressed embodiment of this fight, I have a call to take in five minutes that I don't have the files for. Someone take the food before the bag rips please. Jack, do you want me to dig through your desk and find the files I need, or..?”

“No, no I'll get them. You come with and get the call started and _you_ ,” He jabs his finger at Gwen who sets her tear stained face into a scowl “Stay here and wait. We're not done.” Jack turns on his heel, stomping off to his office and Cheyenne follows behind, stopping long enough to pass the brown paper bag to Ianto and cut her eyes meaningfully in Gwen's direction.

“Tosh, would you and Owen mind grabbing the dishes and some drinks from the kitchen please?” It says a great deal about the amount of tension spilling over that Owen follows Tosh without a single dirty look or snide remark. “Gwen?” She's choking back sniffles, scrubbing her eyes with the side of her sleeve. “Come on, let's get the food unpacked.”

They're unloading containers of soup, pad thai, curries, and spring rolls and Gwen doesn't say anything, just stands there, sniffling and dripping quiet tears onto the Styrofoam containers.

“Gwen...”

“I'm sorry!” It's not what he's expecting. The apology perhaps, but now the way it bursts out of her in loud sobs that leave Gwen scrambling to cover her face. She crumples against him, burying her face in his shoulder when he comes over and touches her shoulder lightly, digging her fingers into the back of his suit coat. “I'm s-sorry! I shouldn't have s-said that, what I s-said.” She's shaking, sliding towards hysterics and it's probably much healthier than a quickie in the SUV, but not nearly as fun. He catches Tosh's eye as she and Owen come up the stairs, shaking his head and motioning for them to turn back around. Now Owen does grumble, pantomiming a kick in the bum for both of them and taking a very visible drink out of every beer in his hands before heading back down the stairs to wait with Tosh on the couch.

“All right, calm down. All's forgiven if you just stop crying on me Gwen.”

“You c-can't! I said really f-foul things, and I g-got Rhys s-shot and you almost _died_ because I didn't listen to Jack and...” And there it is. She sniffles against him and Ianto hopefully dangles a handkerchief next to her before he ends up with snot on his jacket. “And then I would have had to c-come back here and tell Cheyenne you got s-shot in the _head_ because I can't follow orders and I'm still not, but I _can't_!”

“Gwen, you did what you did. We all knew it was a bad idea for you to be on the case with Rhys for this very reason. That said, no one blames you for stepping out there and I'm here. I'm fine. Come on, wipe your face before the food gets cold.”

Gwen's slumped down in her chair, still scrubbing at her red face when Owen lets himself in despite Ianto's glower, dropping a beer and a little pink diamond on the table in front of her.

“Take that and three deep breaths, but don't drive home because you're going to be high as a kite in about ten minutes when that tranquilizer kicks in. Teaboy, did your baby momma get my pineapple fried rice?”

“I would tell you, in great detail, exactly what I think of you ever using the term 'baby momma' in my general direction, but I think I'll let Cheyenne handle it.” The look on Owen's face when he turns around from his scrounge is well worth the annoyance to see Chy in the doorway, tapping the toe of her black leather boots against the tile floor.

“Owen, the next time you call me something that stupid again I will make you eat a _minimum_ of three of your teeth. Try me. Gwen, Jack would like to see you in his office. Take that first, before you two get your blood pressure up high enough to make your eyeballs pop.” The taller woman swallows the pill with a swig of her beer meekly before squaring her shoulders and marching towards Jack's office.

“So, where'd you weigh in on the Rhys versus Torchwood argument?” Owen is a greedy bastard who has pulled the entire container of pineapple fried rice in front of him, dumping peanut sauce over the top and beginning to eat directly out of the box. “Since you were gone too long to get files and not long enough to call South Africa.”

“Owen, you are a rice stealing pig. That's number one. Also, I used the fact that I don't tend to curse at, or hang up on, the other agencies to reschedule for tomorrow. As far as everything with Rhys goes, I pointed out to Jack that I've been not so subtly suggesting he consider finding a couple of small companies with bonded employees and consider contracting out. Like a crime scene clean up crew...or a haulage firm so he doesn't have to keep taking time off from cases to do the driving. I have no idea if he's going to listen or not, but I know Gwen looked serious about walking and Jack's not going to give up on any of you over something as mundane as a marriage.”

“Good.” Owen passes her a beer. “Convince him to get us a fucking shrink while you're at it.”

**

“So, is finding out you had a gun to your head from someone else going to be a reoccurring thing?” They're cleaning up the conference room after everyone else has headed home, stealing little worried glances at Jack where he's bent over his desk nursing another glass of liquor.

“I would have gotten around to it before bed.” Probably. “Everything went to shit today Chy.”

“Between Tosh doing her nut on the coms earlier loud enough for me to cut my tour with the realtor short and what Jack told me upstairs, I did gather that. He said that thing was a larval star whale, which is apparently super pure and perfect and smart in a unicorn kind of way because he's freaking out like crazy over there.” Somehow that's harder, knowing that the suffering, pleading creature they had to put down like a wounded dog was a sentient infant of some kind.

“Oh, that makes it, like, a thousand times worse.”

“Okay, fuck the leftovers.” Ianto winces as Cheyenne sweeps her arm across the table, raking everything into the rubbish bag in her hand. “Come on, help me get Jack and shut this place down for the night, I have something to show the two of you if you don't mind a ride out to the suburbs.”

Getting Jack out of his office isn't as easy as Cheyenne makes it sound. He's slumped over his desk, one hand buried in his hair as he works his way through piles of paperwork in between sips. He's bordering on the edge of surly, insistent on working his way through at least three hours of reports. In the end Ianto scans over everything and breaks the pile into things only Jack can authorize, matters of daily operation which he keeps in front of himself, and nonessential outside reports that he passes off to Cheyenne. It still takes them another hour and a half to work their way through everything breaking piles into smaller groups until the surface of Jack's desk is covered in post-it marked reports and Jack is closer to sober than drunk.

“Come on gentlemen, I made arrangements for the dogs to stay at the kennel for two days, but I need to rescue Ianto's sister from Indiana all the way across town from where we're actually going. Come on, you can come back later if you really need to, but I just want to show you something.”

**

Picking up Indiana takes forever. Cheyenne lets him drive, curling up in the backseat with her fingers flying across the keyboard of her laptop as they drive through the snowy six 'o clock darkness and Rhiannon is not waiting with Indy dressed and ready to go when they get there. Instead she's feeding all the kids dinner together, trying to unsuccessfully to coax her nephew to take a bite of thinned down mashed potatoes and peas that she's mushing on the side of her plate. By the time he collects his offspring, peels his own niece and nephew off his limbs, bribes them to go away with a fiver each, and gets Indy tucked back into the black penguin sleeper that he's about to grow out of, it's been half an hour and Jack is dozing in the passenger seat to the low fast ticking of Cheyenne's nails on the keys.

“So, where to?”

Where to ends up being on the northern side of the M4 in the middle of nowhere Lisvane. The car's quiet, just the occasional tapping of a keyboard weaving in with the sounds of tires of the wet road and sleepy warm sounds from Indiana in his carseat. They drive through the 'downtown' of the little suburb, passing a couple pubs and stores decorated for the holidays, swags of evergreens and lights twisted around light poles and store fronts. The tiny commercial area gives way to neatly decorated neighborhoods, the houses becoming larger and further apart as they turn onto a road with nothing much on it.

“Okay, take this next left.” The next left is a tree lined private road. The snow is sparkling in the moonlight in the glimpses of fields and low, snowcapped small buildings in the distance. There's a glimmer in the distance of starlight on water as they round a corner and come headlights to empty windows with a sprawling manor. The front lawn is terraced, perfectly straight paths cut into the stepping stones of picture perfect powder heaped on the lawn. Ianto pulls over a couple recent sets of tire tracks and knocks the truck into park as he looks around the empty grounds in confusion.

“Okay. Chy, what's this? There's no one here.”

“Not yet. I bought it today.”

“You _what_?” This place is enormous. It's grey stone face sprawls wide over the manicured lawn, three stories of empty windows staring down blankly at them. In the distance Ianto can see a bloody carriage house and beyond that a paddock with a stable. He wonders how much of the empty rolling land they drove past to get here belongs with the house, and resigns himself that the answer is probably all of it.

“I bought it. Offered the seller eighty percent of the asking price in cash, which they accepted. I was in the process of signing all the papers when I left and had to do the rest with e-sigs. I've been checking my accounts, reshuffling some finances so the withdrawal won't fluctuate any spot in my portfolio too drastically...”

“What are you going to do with a house this big Chy? It's huge. It's so big your house spawned its _own_ house in the back.” Jack snorts, obviously not as asleep as he seemed and Cheyenne leans forward between the front seats, resting her chin on Jack's shoulder.

“I'm going to live in it. It's fifteen minutes out of town, less with sirens on and your foot to the floor and has room for a library, guest bedrooms, office space, formal entertaining...” Her voice trails off. “It is kinda big for two people. I could probably fit another two in here somewhere, I mean, if you were interested.”

“Are you...you want us to move in? _Both_ of us?”

“Well it would be kind of shitty of me to just invite one of you. You're both over almost every night anyway. This would just skip the early wake up to go home and change step.” There's a bright nervous flush crawling its way up her throat, dark enough to be noticeable against her dusky skin even in the darkness of the car. “Look, I'm not saying grab your shit and be here tomorrow, but if you wanted to carve out some space in here somewhere, leave some shit around, I'm just saying it'd be all right.”

There's something endearing about watching Cheyenne fumble this, flushed deeply enough that her skin is probably hot to the touch as she stares resolutely out the windshield and pretends not to be watching either of them looking at her. She grumbles, squirming uncomfortably as Jack reaches up, tugging at the curl that escapes everything Chy ever does to her hair to dangle directly in her peripheral vision.

“You're adorable when you're shy Dr. Morgan. You're all stammery, like you've never done this before.”

“I haven't you dick. The last man who lived with me proposed to me when he was ten. I never had to ask anyone to move in.”

“Ah.” Jack's expression softens from its teasing smirk as he nuzzles the spot behind her ear that makes her curl her toes. “In that case...mind if I break in and take a look around?”

**

Breaking into Cheyenne's houses before anyone lives there is becoming a strange but hilarious habit. Jack cycles through the frequencies on his wrist strap, frowning disapprovingly as the alarm system clicks over without a fight.

“That's not good enough.” The tumblers on the front door aren't any harder under Ianto's nimble fingers and it's not until Indiana squeals in amusement at the door swinging open that he thinks he should avoid picking as many locks around his son as he can. “Neither is that. We're replacing the locks and alarms.”

“Obviously. Come _on_!”

It's insane. They wander by torchlight, Cheyenne pointing out things like the hand blown chandelier hanging over the two curving sets of stairs leading up to the second floor and then down at the slick dove grey flooring under their feet as she talks about how excellent sock bowling is on marble floors. There's a formal living room with a huge fireplace surrounded by a wall sized wooden mantel that they don't notice for a long moment, too busy staring at the red-orange leather furniture set over an intricately patterned purple rug.

“They were so ugly together that I almost didn't buy the house just because of this room. I made Jenny, my agent, swear they'd be out of the house within an hour of my deposit clearing the bank in the morning.”

They waste an hour easily, wandering in and out of wood paneled rooms with beautiful slate floors holding a highly polished table that would easily seat eighteen that aren't the dining room, lushly carpeted areas made to seat ten that's apparently a dining room but not the only one, a kitchen that doesn't need to be that big or well appointed unless it's attached to a restaurant, and a family room that Ianto actually kind of loves with it's huge wall of windows aimed down over what is apparently ten acres of lush lawns, gardens, and trees.

“So,” They've settled on the floor under the large bay window in the sitting area of the master bedroom, Indiana squirming around on the hardwood floor between the three of them. “Pretty nice right? Couple electronic locking gun safes, better security system and a new shower installed in the bathroom there and I think it'll be pretty close to perfect. Also, I'm hiring a decorator in a few days, so if either of you have any input, now's the time to let me know.”

Apparently Jack has strong feelings about interior decoration and a strong preference for things that could be generously called steam punk at best from far to many years living in the Hub. Personally Ianto doesn't care about the debate over brass accents, he's been making due with whatever is around him for years, not when Indy is staring intently at Jack's coat and rocking himself back and forth with determination. Indiana almost collapses back to the floor in shock as one over enthusiastic jerk threatens to topple him and he keeps himself upright by slapping one fat little hand to the floor. His eyes, still greyish-blue despite the fact that they've all been expecting them to go brown for weeks now, stare in fascination at his hand against the floor as he lifts it and slaps it back down further ahead of himself and then scoots himself forward.

“Hey, hey, look at him!” Ianto's digging his phone out, even as he reaches over and jabs Cheyenne in the leg with his elbow. She shoots him an annoyed glance that melts to soft awe as she follows the line of his arm to the phone at the end, recording Indiana's determined scooting across the three feet between him from Jack's coat tails. “I think he's after your buttons Jack.”

“Of course he is. Everyone loves the coat. Come on Indy, if you can get it, you can have it.” It takes Indy almost four hesitant stop-and-start minutes to drag himself across the floor close enough to flop contentedly over onto Jack and promptly stuff half of one large brass button into his mouth. Cheyenne is making an enormous deal out of how clever their kid is, flopped down next to him and covering him with kisses in between praising and Ianto would join her but there's hardly enough room in Jack's lap for all three of them; besides which, he's plenty busy on his own texting the video to his sister, Gwen, Tosh, and after imagining what kind of sulky revenge might be aimed his way for being left out, Owen.

“All right, I think that's enough of baby's first breaking and entering for the day. Come on you, give Jack his buttons back please.” Indiana squeals as Cheyenne flops over onto her back, pulling him with her and hoisting him into the air over his head. They look perfect, sprawled on the bare hardwood floor half on Jack's legs as he watches them with a fond gaze in the light of three torches set in a ring on the floor. They look like they belong here, all four of them in this mostly empty way too big house where Indiana has just crawled for the first time and the shadows that have been haunting Jack's eyes since he came home are lessened. The phone clicks in his hand, breaking the moment as Chy and Jack both look over at him, but on the screen it's perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> My beta pointed out that Jubilee Pizza is still operational as of Miracle Day, but in a desperate desire to really want to keep taking things they like away from my Torchwood team, I went to Tardis wiki and discovered that there were two in the Cardiff area, so in case you were all like, 'tisk tisk' that's my excuse for how it could have been destroyed and still around later. Me for the wins yo.


End file.
